The Breakthrough I Didn’t Expect

Grief is strange.

Just when you think you’re finding your footing, something knocks you down again.

A song.

A memory.

A photograph.

A date on the calendar.

One moment you’re feeling hopeful and optimistic, and the next you’re struggling to catch your breath under the weight of missing someone you love.

I’ve been riding that wave for two years. As the two-year anniversary of losing Alvin approached, I was preparing myself for one of the hardest days yet.

I dreaded it.

I expected tears.

I expected heartache.

I expected to relive every painful memory from the hospital.

I can still see those days. I can still remember standing there feeling completely helpless, watching the man I loved fight a battle neither of us understood. I remember the fear. The uncertainty. The heartbreak of watching someone you planned to grow old with deteriorate in a matter of weeks.

There are moments from that time that are forever etched into my memory.

And as the anniversary drew closer, I expected all of those memories to come crashing back down on me.

But something unexpected happened.

Love showed up.

Not the kind of love that removes grief. Not the kind that makes everything magically better.

The kind of love that sits beside you and reminds you that you don’t have to carry it alone.

A week before the anniversary, I began posting one photo of Alvin each day. It felt like a way to honor him. To remember him. To keep his name alive.

I thought that would be enough.

But as the date got closer, I realized I wanted to do something more.

Just two days before the anniversary, I was talking with my grief sisters when one of them suggested a balloon release.

What happened next is something I’ll never forget.

Nobody hesitated.

Nobody needed convincing.

Everyone immediately stepped in and took on a role.

Tish handled the balloons and supplies. Others helped with food, drinks, and making sure everything came together. What started as a simple conversation quickly became something beautiful.

And that’s who these women are.

They aren’t just my grief sisters.

They’re family.

The love is genuine.

The connection is genuine.

The bond we’ve built through some of the hardest moments of our lives is something I cherish deeply.

On the anniversary, they showed up for me.

Not because they had to. Because they wanted to. Because they cared.

As we gathered together, shared food, released balloons, laughed, cried, and honored Alvin’s memory, something happened that I wasn’t expecting.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t focused on what I had lost. I was overwhelmed by what I still had.

As I looked around at these women, watching them smile and listening to them talk, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

I felt loved.

Deeply loved.

Not because someone told me.

Because they showed me.

In that moment, I realized just how much I mean to other people. My circle is small. Very small.

But what I saw that day was that I am not alone.

And somehow, that realization broke through something inside of me.

Not because my grief disappeared.

Not because I’m healed.

Not because I no longer miss Alvin.

I miss him every day.

I wish he were here every day.

But the breakthrough was realizing that while grief has taken much from me, it hasn’t taken everything. It hasn’t taken love.

Sometimes we’re so focused on the empty chair that we miss the people standing beside us. We become so consumed by what grief has taken that we can’t see what love is still giving.

And I think that’s where my breakthrough happened.

I realized that Alvin’s death changed my life. But it didn’t remove love from my life. Love simply arrived in a different form. It showed up through friendship. Through support. Through people who chose to walk beside me when they could have walked away.

The truth is, I still have difficult days. I still get knocked down by memories. I still find myself missing the life we had together. But after this anniversary, I know something I didn’t know before.

I am not alone.

I am loved.

I am supported.

And maybe healing isn’t about leaving our loved ones behind. Maybe it’s about allowing ourselves to keep living while carrying their love with us.

Two years later, that’s the breakthrough I didn’t know I needed. ❤️‍🩹